“Then the killer must have had a reason for starting when he did. Maybe when he knew everybody would be assembled for the house party.” He paused. “I wonder how they managed to get Freddie Partridge into the pear tree. And look at the trouble the killer went to to finish off poor Gladys Tripp. That took skill. The man is good with his hands as well as his brain. And brazen enough to risk going into a telephone exchange in the middle of a busy town. A formidable opponent.”
“And who, one has to presume, was at the ball last night, waiting for the right moment when Mr. Sechrest stood beside the candelabra.”
“My aunt will have the guest list. We can hand that to the police.”
“I don’t suppose it would have been too hard to sneak in unnoticed. There was that gorilla. Nobody knew who was in that costume.”
“We have to assume it was the same gorilla suit we saw hanging up in the attic. Maybe someone in the family knows who borrowed it. Maybe someone did leave a clue inside—a strand of hair or the smell of a particular talcum powder, for example.”
“That’s a long shot,” I said. “I think our best bet is motive. Why did he want to kill these people?”
“Not just for fun—unless he chose Freddie Partridge for his name and the method of killing was more important than the victim. But that would indicate a true madman and I don’t know how one begins to trap such a person.”
We had been climbing a long, winding slope and came suddenly to a steep bend at the crest. “Didn’t see that coming,” Darcy said as he swung the motorcar around it, faster than he intended.
“I believe this is where Mr. Skaggs went over the edge, coming from the other direction.” I looked down that steep, rocky slope until it vanished into mist and I shivered. Someone was out there who could kill at will, leaving no trace, and was waiting to strike again the next day. According to the song he had two more victims planned . . . and the last two had been members of our house party.
I was very relieved as the first houses of the town appeared through the mist and we drove into the main street. Ghostly shapes darted in and out of shops, swathed in scarves against the bitter cold. We stopped outside the police station and went in.
“I’m afraid Inspector Newcombe isn’t here,” said the constable on duty. “No, I couldn’t tell you where he’s gone, but I believe it was some kind of meeting he had to go to. And I couldn’t say when he’d be back.”
I asked for writing paper and wrote a note for him, telling him that we’d come up with something very important concerning a case and needed to speak with him as soon as possible. As I sealed the envelope I experienced a sudden flash of satisfaction that I had been proved right after all. Now Inspector Newcombe would have to admit that the deaths were not accidents and they were linked and one person was doing the killing. Not bad for an amateur. Now if only I could come up with a motive. . . .
I handed the envelope to the constable with strict instructions that it be given to Inspector Newcombe immediately and we came out into the eerie stillness of the street.
“Do you fancy a cup of coffee and a bun before we go back?” Darcy asked. “There’s a little tea shop across the street.”
“I think we should go to visit Mr. Klein first, don’t you?” I said. “He might hold the key to this whole thing.”
“I’m not sure if we shouldn’t leave that—” Darcy began but I cut him off.
“Look, if Inspector Newcombe isn’t available to do it, then I don’t think any more time should be wasted. Someone’s life could be at stake.” I was already striding down the street toward the jeweler’s shop. Darcy caught up with me. “We’re not interfering, we’re helping,” I said. “And if Mr. Klein doesn’t want to talk to us, at least we can send him to talk to the police.”
“Since when did you become so forceful?” Darcy said. “I remember you as a meek little thing when we first met.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been meek,” I said. “Remember, I do come from a great-grandmother who was rather forceful herself. Maybe I was just reticent when we first met—I didn’t quite trust you.”
Darcy laughed. “Good judgment. My one aim was to get you into bed, and I can’t believe I haven’t succeeded yet. I must be developing a conscience.”
“I do want to, Darcy,” I said. “It’s just that the moment never seems to be right.”
He grinned at me. “We’ll make a moment even if I have to whisk you off to Brighton to do so.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” I joked.
“How about Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara?”
Ah. There was the rub. I tried to say, “I can’t marry you,” but I couldn’t. Instead I joked, “I suspect I’ll have a good long wait, then, until you’re ready to settle down.”
“Who knows,” Darcy said, giving me a questioning look. “Stranger things have happened.”
We reached the jeweler’s, but it was closed. “I don’t believe it’s opened since the robbery,” I said, peering through the window into the dark interior.
“There’s a front door to one side,” Darcy said. “Maybe he lives over the shop. Try knocking.”
We knocked. We even rang the doorbell, but nobody came.
“Not at home,” Darcy said.
I stared up at the window with the curtains drawn across it. “Who would go out on a day like this?” I asked.
Darcy and I looked at each other. “You don’t suppose . . . ?” we said in unison.
Chapter 34
IN THE TOWN OF NEWTON ABBOTT, DEVONSHIRE
DECEMBER 29
Darcy gave one last volley of knocks on the front door. As we were walking away a window opened above the next-door haberdashery shop. An elderly woman’s face looked out.
“You’re wanting Mr. Klein, are you? He’s not there, my dearies,” she said. “Leastways, I haven’t seen him since I got back from my daughter’s yesterday. I knocked to give him a piece of my daughter’s Christmas cake, but nobody answered so I think he must have gone away.”
“Any idea where he might have gone?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He has two daughters, I remember, but I couldn’t tell you where they live. He’s a very private man. Keeps himself to himself and it’s hard to get a word out of him.”
Darcy and I exchanged a look as we walked away. “We’d better go back to the police,” I said. “He could be lying there dead on the floor and nobody would know.”
The constable at the police station listened politely but clearly wasn’t taking us seriously. “Lots of folks go away over Christmas,” he said. “I don’t think you should worry yourself unduly, miss.”
“But we have reason to believe that the robbery of his store was linked to all these strange deaths. You know—Gladys Tripp, Mr. Skaggs.”
“And how might that be, miss?”
“It’s too complicated to explain now,” I said. “I’m sure Inspector Newcombe would act immediately if I told him what I now know.”
“We can’t just go breaking in someone’s door on the off chance that something might not be right,” he said.
“Not even if a person may well be lying dead inside, murdered?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m all alone here at the moment. Can’t leave the station unattended, can I? Besides, I can’t do nothing without my sergeant’s permission.”
“And where is he?”
“It’s his day off, miss. Can’t bother him on his day off.”
I had a growing desire to slap him but I fought to stay calm. “So if a major crime happened now, if someone ran down the street shooting people, you’d just watch because you’re all alone in the police station?”
I felt Darcy dig me in the side. The constable considered my question, not recognizing it as sarcasm. “Well, miss, if a man ran down our street shooting at people, I reckon I’d be bound to try and stop him, wouldn’t I? But if the gentleman you’re talking about is already dead, then an hour or so more won’t matter much to him, will it?”
